Neked Sans My Socks.

transition

This week I’ve been practicing transitions.

If you’re new to the world of triathlons, a transition is the amount of time you spend jacking around between each sport. So for example, T1 [or your first transition] is the amount of time it takes you to get OUT of the open water and ONTO your bike. T2 [the second transition] is the amount of time it takes you to rack your bike, tug on your running shoes and get your a** back out on the course.

As best I can tell, transitions are open to personal interpretation.

Some people try to keep their times to a minimum. (Think under one minute per transition – crazy!)

Others use this time to park their a** under a shade tree, gobble a PB&J, change their clothes, brush their chicklets, (no sh*t!), and get mentally prepared for the next leg of the race.

Here’s why I bring this up:

Last week, my coach asked if I’d like to start practicing transitions.

Me: Not really.

Him: Why?

Me: I don’t think my T times are terrible.

Him: So you’ll kill yourself to take 18 minutes off your bike but you won’t at least TRY to shave a minute or two in transition.

Me: Yes, that’s right. (I say with a sigh realizing how stupid this really is.)

So this morning, I ‘practiced’ my T2 transition. Let me tell you how that went down:

  1. I rode my bike trainer for 45 minutes, 30 which were spent doing intervals.
  2. I then hopped off, made a run for my washing machine, peeled off everything but my socks and threw my soggy, soaked clothes into the canister to be dealt with at an undetermined time in the future when I have nothing better to do than laundry.
  3. I then zoomed down the hallway, (neked sans my socks), to my bedroom and started trying to tug on running clothes. (I’m being timed here, right? So picture just how ridiculous this is.)
  4. Realizing I’m still too sweaty, I make a bee line for a bathroom to grab a towel and wipe off the rest of the sweat my body worked so hard to produce a mere 10 seconds earlier.
  5. I then run back to the bedroom, pull on my clothes, slip into my shoes, grab my shuffle, my stocking cap, gloves and some cash and race out the door… only to stand at the elevator for 6 full minutes trying to catch a ride.

[I’d call this particular transition an epic bust.]

And that’s the long and the short of training anyway, isn’t it? Some days, things go our way. Others, they don’t. But at the end of a training cycle, (when we’re standing at the start line), what matters most is that rip, sh*t or bust… we showed up.

Today, I’m celebrating that consistency is a muscle, discipline is a mindset and that our intentions can turn into something soul-smashingly beautiful when we commit to both.

ONWARD!

Brook

P.S. Last week, my hair dresser mentioned she spends a lot of time thinking about what fitness will look like for her as she ages. I said, “Are you kidding me? I can’t get past my next finish line!” So I’m curious… do you think about what fitness will mean to you down the road?

P.S.S. A few days ago, I offered the women in my Sole Sisterhood a chance to connect with MY tri/running coach for a free 30 minute consult. If you want to explore if a coaching relationship is right for you, click here to see if Brian can help.

P.S.S.S. Listen, I’m not going to beg. But if you haven’t joined the Sole Sisterhood yet what the hell is stopping you? It’s free + I’ll send you a bit of cool digital running swag, too. Click here if you’re in!

I have a girlfriend coming for the weekend so I thought I’d do a quick cleaning. I’m the only woman in the world who can get her vacuum cleaner stuck to her bike. WTF.
vaccuum

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